isn’t 93 miles south of Florida. Cuba is.”Even so, Weinstein and other eager Americans are stub-bornly optimistic. Entrepreneurs like Saul Berenthal, for in-stance, a 72-year-old in Raleigh, North Carolina, who wants tosell small tractors to Cuban farmers. And Darius Anderson, apolitical consultant, lobbyist, and investor who’s been visitingCuba since he was a college student, and now has a scheme tosell California wines to Cuban restaurateurs. Everybody wantsto believe that we’re at the beginning of the end of an era; thatno one—not unforgetting Cuban émigrés in Miami, not Fidel’sghost, not a brash and unpredictable President Trump—canhalt the momentum now. That the embargo must be, will be,swept aside, and the rivers of commerce will fow.

But Cuba is not for innocents or neophytes. “People getbesotted with Cuba,” Muse warns. “If you’re a little guy, youmight think that because the big guys aren’t there, you canplay in those waters. It’s exotic. You’re a pioneer! All thesethings combine to make some people abandon basic businessprinciples.” T HE FAIRGROUND for Cuba’s interna- tional trade show is 12 miles outh of central Havana. It’s a slow cab ride, on crowded roads flled with midcentury Fords, Chevys, and Cadillacs, many of them reftted with diesel motors, not one of which would pass a U.S. emissions inspection. A mural of Che Guevara hovers omnisciently over the Plaza de la Revolución, while billboards faunt slogans like SOCIALISMO MUERTE (“Socialism orDeath”) and NORMALIZAR NO ES SINÓNIMO DE BLO-QUEAR (“Normalization and Blockades Don’t Go Togeth-er”), a blunt reminder of Cuba’s all-or-nothing stance on theembargo, which Cubans call “the blockade.”The American pavilion is a hike from the trade show’s mainentrance, in the farthest corner of the grounds, beyond thescattered remnants of past exhibitions—a petrifed pump jack,a stilled windmill, a parked Air Cubana airliner repurposed asa restaurant. JetBlue banners fank the entrance. Inside, ordi-nary Cubans who have managed to snag coveted trade showcredentials graze the American booths, scooping up free hats,pens, and pistachios. Perhaps because there is no conventionaladvertising in Cuba (it’s illegal), Cuban consumers are adept atferreting out whatever’s available, wherever it can be found.

The National Auto Parts Association has a booth, lookingtoward the day when it can begin populating Cuba with itsstores. So do a smattering of state-sponsored trade delega-tions representing poultry farmers, soybean growers, and thePort of Virginia; and all manner of small and midsize U.S.manufacturers, displaying motors, electronic controls, andother industrial gear, none of which are yet on the list ofJefrey DeLaurentis, roams the aisles in a seersucker suit,chatting up exhibitors and awkwardly ducking reporters.(“There is still an embargo,” his aide explains apologetically.)Overall, attendance by American exhibitors is lower thisyear than last, when Obama’s frst round of reforms created akind of euphoria that has since dissipated. Those who havereturned see the potential but understand the need for patience.Among them is investor Noel Thompson, decked out in a blueblazer advertising his ties to the U.S. Olympic Committee.Thompson is a former Goldman Sachs banker now running hisown hedge fund in New York City. He’s been coming down toCuba every few months for the past couple of years, working hisway into the culture, gathering intel, developing contacts. Heimagines doing a lot of business in Cuba one day—trading cur-rencies, advising on deals, helping privatize government assets,and otherwise capitalizing on the explosion he thinks willsurely come when the embargo lifts and America fully engageswith Cuba’s suppressed capitalist passions. It won’t happentomorrow, he knows, or even next year, but one day. “Maybeit’s my Goldman training,” Thompson says. “When you see abutterfy fap its wings … ”Manning a nearby booth with sunglasses propped on hisforehead and an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth, anotherAmerican, Darius Anderson, presides over a winetasting ledby his pal Fernando Fernández, Cuba’s preeminent blenderof rums and cigars. Anderson frst visited Cuba in 1986 asa student at George Washington University, where he had aposter of Che Guevara on his dorm room wall. When his palswent to Florida for spring break, he went north to Toronto,from which he was able to get to Havana. His total visits sincethen: “Somewhere in the mid-60s,” he guesses. Every time the“People get besottedwith Cuba. If you’rea little guy, you mightthink that becausethe big guys aren’tthere, you canplay in those waters.It’s exotic.

You’re a pioneer!

All these thingscombine to makesome peopleabandon basicbusiness principles.”–Robert Muse, an attorney who advisesU.S. companies on Cuba

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